AN: Updated the cover image (pixiv id 5177794) and genre (figured crime fit in a way). Once again, thanks for all the feed back, and I hope you all continue to enjoy the story!

Tell Me

6

He was late, about thirty minutes or so, but as he sprinted down through the narrow alleyway, mind racing, all he could think about was her. The way her hands lightly took hold of his jacket and how her cheeks tinted red the moment she leaned in. A triumphant yell rose up his throat, but he held back and swallowed, a smile spreading across his face as he sidestepped an overturned trashcan and then bolted down the spotlit street.

Lost in his mind as he was, he nearly missed the turn for the exchange, but he skidded to a halt, turned and picked up running again. The door he needed was on the side of an old office building and down a flight of stairs that led into the earth that opened into the basement. Typically the door was locked, but when company was expected it was left open. So, before heading in, he straitened his jacket, ran a hand through his hair to dislodge any remaining sand, and then nudged open the door. Unfortunately, the sight that welcomed him wasn't promising.

Katsu, the current head of Matsue's underground circuit, was a beast of a man who had the temper of a rabid dog. His dark eyes were sunken into his skull as if he had been punched in the face too many times (probably all for a good reason) and he stood nearly as tall as Seijuurou, but his stocky and buff build made up for the loss in centimeters. Seijuurou put up with him and his attitude because business was business and money talked much louder in their world, but from what he could see over the crowd gathered at the center of the room and how Katsu had a fistful of Nitori's jacket and was currently spitting threats, he decided it was the last straw.

Katsu turned to him as Seijuurou shut the door roughly behind him and his dark eyes seemed to come alive as he peered over the heads of his fellows. "Look what the cat dragged in," he said, tossing Nitori roughly away. "Thought you were gonna be a no show for moment. What kept you, bro?"

The tension surrounding the two opposing gangs dissipated only slightly as they parted to let Seijuurou through. His men shot him looks, clouded eyes and frowns, but he ignored them, taking the moment to help Nitori to his feet before turning to address their guest.

"The usual." He tried to sound unperturbed, but a small amount of anger slipped unknowingly into his tone and his eyes narrowed dangerously. "But there's business we need to get done. I'm assuming you came prepared?"

"What, you mean this?" Katsu fished out a wad of bills from his pants pocket and lightly fanned himself. "Not sure if I want to anymore. Who knew the Samezuka gang was made up of a bunch of pussies."

Seijuurou chuckled, "Listen, it's a yes or no question, otherwise you can get the fuck out of here."

Katsu frowned, stuffing the cash back into his pocket and retrieved a cigarette from the other, placing it idly between his lips. "What happened to you, man?" he said, lighting the cigarette. "Something's been up for the past few months and it's starting to worry me."

The men behind him shuffled, but Seijuurou shot them a glare and they froze. He rolled his tense shoulders, willing away the stiffness in his neck and the thought of a girl in a yellow sundress and leveled Katsu with a glare of his own, "You must be imagining things."

"Yeah," Katsu grumbled, "That must be it."

Seijuurou heard the shot before he felt the sting, as a heavy thud hit the ground somewhere behind him. What happened next was like a sudden boiling, his insides screaming as his thoughts quickly clouded over and his mind snapped the instant he registered the slick drip of blood trickling down his arm, bleeding through the dark material of his jacket. He clenched his teeth and lunged forward. His out stretched hand wrapped around Katsu's neck, his thumb pressing threateningly against the man's jugular. Seijuurou's men came to life then, Takeo being the first to jump into the fray and knock the gunman in the jaw with a right hook that would have made Gou proud. The rest followed his example, quickly bringing to rest the squabble Katsu's men had barely gotten started.

Seijuurou exhaled loudly through his nostrils, ignoring the pain shooting through his right arm as his free hand smoothed back his hair. "Next time you plan on shooting someone, make sure you get the job done."

"Don't patronize me." Katsu spat as he raised a hand to strike the wound on Seijuurou's arm.

It hurt, but his grip remained as he curled his left hand into a fist. "Clench your teeth," he growled and collided his knuckles against Katsu's nose and a sickening crunch reverberated through the room. And then again and again, until the beast's face was beyond recognizable and his hand hurt, aching and bleeding. When he let go, the man slumped to ground, unmoving except the shallow rise and fall of his chest.

Slowly, he raised eyes from the heap in front of him to the unconscious bodies of Katsu's fellows as the images of his men blurred about in his peripherals, moving to attend to those wounded.

He stood silent and unmoving where it had all ended. Yet as the pain in his arm multiplied and his sight wandered to his battered left hand hanging limply at his side, blood collecting in clumps on his knuckles, all he could think of was her face and he frowned, desperately wanting to wash his hands.

It was a pleasant Sunday afternoon, so pleasant in fact that she invited the boxing team down to the gym for some free quality training and they had all been more or less excited. Well, perhaps maybe everyone but Nagisa, who made the suggestion that they all go swimming instead. Being the manager, Gou decided to override his suggestion, reminding them that in just about one week they'd have no time left and he begrudgingly agreed.

Besides the initial hiccup, practice went smoothly. Individually, each member of the Iwatobi boxing club was particularly good at something, whether that be jabbing, knockout punches, footwork, or just sheer determination. Together they were a force and their camaraderie only helped raise them to levels that would be otherwise impossible to achieve.

Today, though, she had come across a problem and it wasn't something that could be easily fixed by pounding the punching bags for answers nor was it something she felt comfortable enough to go to Makoto for help, despite his open and friendly demeanor. It didn't seem right talking about it, so she sat there watching them train, offering her opinion and demonstrations when needed, as her mind wandered back and forth over the same trail and by the time she broke out of it they were already heading to the changing rooms.

They came back out not too long later dressed in the club's sweatpants and large T-shirts. She was busy cleaning up by that time and she looked up at them and waved.

Makoto waved back, smiling. "Why don't you come with us Gou? We're going out to eat. And before you ask, no it's not mackerel."

"Yeah, why don't you?" Nagisa added, leaning around Rei to look at her.

"Sorry, I can't," she said, turning back to her work of mopping the floor. "Goro wants me to close up the place since he's out of town."

"We'll help you if you want," she heard Makoto say, followed by Rei's agreement. "With the five of us it should be done in no time."

She looked back up and shook her head, her red hair dancing over her shoulders, "I got this, but thank you guys, I appreciate the thought."

She saw the small pout to Nagisa's lips and a similar frown marring Makoto's face, "Alright then. Have a nice night Gou."

"You too," she said, before turning back around to scrub the floor as the door closed shut.

A silence settled as she dragged the mop over the wood. It was perfect for thinking and yet her mind seemed oddly blank and listless now. It seemed like she had done this task a million times since she took up the job about three years ago when her brother returned from training in Australia a different man. The task had almost become therapeutic at this point, mind numbing in a way that relaxed her muscles, so that when she heard the door open she was a little slow to turn around.

Her eyes settled on him and the smile seemed all wrong. It was tilted at the wrong angle, all lopsided and unfulfilling and her throat tightened. She coughed lightly to clear it, placing the mop in the bucket and smiled back, jogging over to greet him. "Hey," she said, "I wished you stopped by sooner, I would have introduced you to the club."

"Well, there are always second chances," he replied. She watched as he brought his left hand to rub the back of his neck apologetically, but that was wrong too and the awkwardness of the action only resulted in drawing her attention to his heavily bandaged hand. Her brows furrowed and she knew he noticed by the way he quickly lowered his hand and stuffed it in his jacket pocket. He busied himself by stepping out of his shoes before moving past her and onto the floor, "Is there anything I can help you with? Have you got all of the weights stacked?"

She saw it then, a wide slit on the right sleeve of his jacket that was surrounded by a dark and crusting patch of color. There were things she overlooked during their time together, some of these things she wasn't happy to ignore, but she did because he always said it was okay, that he was happy just because she cared. This, however – there was something wrong with this. Did he just expect her not to notice, to not say anything about it? It made her insides curl and knot together. It made her angry because even though he was right in front of her, his back seemed so far away. It was like an arm's distance that seems to be only that at first but the next time you check it's a leap that seems a bit too far. And so, determination set, she reached after him and caught the back of his jacket in her grasp.

He peered over his shoulder at her when he felt her tug backward and his eyes were tired but understanding, as if he knew the words that would leave her lips before she even spoke. "Jacket, off, now," she said, her voice even and steady, a contrast to how her heart pounded against her chest.

Smiling sheepishly, he turned round to face her as her hand let go to help him shrug of the jacket. And there it was; a thick and angry wound in varying shades of color halfway in between his upper arm. It was haphazardly stitched, the skin pulling against its binding almost as if trying to breathe and she had to look away for a moment to make sure everything in her stomach would stay down.

She was so distracted by it that she nearly forgot about the man connected to the arm until she felt him rest his head on top of hers. "Sei," she scolded, pushing against his chest. "There's no time for that. You need to get that checked out. Immediately."

She brought her hand to hover hesitantly over the gash, trying to ward off the tears that were gathering at the corner of her eyes, holding them back only through sheer force of will. "What the heck were you doing?"

He grinned his wide grin, "Would you believe me if I told you I fell?"

She glared at him, only to look away when she felt the tears prickle to life again. "You're an idiot," she mumbled.

"I'm your idiot."

She sighed, the anger and tenseness easing from her limbs and she nudged her head against his chest, leaning on his stable frame. "Then I want you to trust me." she whispered, hoping he wouldn't hear the tremble that had unmistakably made its way into her voice. "I don't need specifics, just let me help you. I'm here to pick up the pieces – it's my job. That's what this is, remember? You've got my back and I promise to have yours, so let me help you."

He wrapped an arm around her and then another more slowly, pulling her against him and she breathed him in, pulling him as close to her as possible. He smelled like the sea, burnt and salty, but warm and welcoming.